Another Day
by dracofiend
Summary: Draco has another lover. Harry has another day. HD.


Harry pocketed his change, thanked the shop girl, and left the Muggle sweetshop with the largest box of chocolate cordial creams that could be had. 

It was very big.

Harry hefted it clumsily under one arm, thankful for the burden. He'd been gone too long this time, and he knew it. This latest assignment had stretched three weeks beyond the expected completion date due to circumstances beyond his control. Of course, the circumstances were always beyond his control--that's what being an Auror was. Constant vigilance.

Draco had known this from the start, but Harry could read the frustration in his letters, delivered whenever possible by Auror couriers to those on assignment. And now, he hadn't been able to write to Draco for weeks--the integrity of the job had been at stake. Harry knew there'd be some feathers to smooth down when he returned. Pale, silken, silvery feathers.

Harry was still grinning tiredly to himself, imagining his lover's impeccable hair wildly cocked up, like a small angry bird's, when a flash of familiar blond caught his eye.

He peered across the street through the cafe window.

Draco.

It was Draco's unmistakable shade of purest platinum, nestled against dark auburn. The blond parted his lips in a coy smile before the dark-haired man leaned in and ravished them with a deep kiss. Draco responded eagerly, bobbing his delicate chin up and down, pushing into the other man's mouth.

Even with the passing traffic and the spots swimming before his eyes, Harry could see that it wasn't the first time. He took in the curved hand clenching possessively at Draco's thigh, the flirtatious tilt of Draco's neck, before striding briskly onward down the paved sidewalk to the Ministry-approved disapparation point, stunned. Then he vanished from Muggle London to the home he'd shared with Draco for the past two years.

ooooooooooo

"Harry!" Pale blond elegance poured through the door and swirled around Harry, pressing cool lips against his own. Harry automatically returned the kiss, trapping Draco's insistent tongue in his mouth. Draco's arms encircled Harry's neck and he swept long fingers through the dark wayward locks.

"You're back earlier than you said! I thought you weren't going to be home until late, after dinner!" Draco's voice was alternately loud and muffled as he rubbed his cheek against Harry's and lipped at his neck.

Harry kept his hands loose on Draco's back. "Are you disappointed?" It came out as dead-panned humor.

"Mmmm...do I feel disappointed?" Draco purred seductively and ground his lower body against Harry's. The pleasant firmness there swelled against Harry's groin.

"I brought you something," Harry said, still casual. "I thought you might be mad at me for staying out so long."

"Oh sweetheart, I can't be mad at you," Draco murmured throatily, running his fingers down Harry's shoulders to unfasten the first button of his shirt. "Not when I've been without for so much longer than I was prepared to wait." The buttons were quickly being undone, and Harry's toned, even skin lay partially revealed. He didn't move, and didn't ask just how long Draco had really been without.

"Did you put on the Muggle shirt just for me?" Draco's tongue flickered at the rim of Harry's ear. "You know how much I love you in Muggle clothing." More buttons--then Harry's shirt lay heaped on the floor.

Harry twisted away from those deft hungry hands, ducking Draco's half-lidded eyes.

"These are for you." Harry turned back to him, holding out the enormous box, sleekly packaged in satiny ribbon. It stopped Draco's wandering fingers.

"Harry," Draco murmured, now taking the proffered gift. "My favorite. You managed to get them during your trip?" He ran his fingertips over the glossy surface.

"No," Harry said. "In London. I stopped by a shop before I came home today."

The porcelain hand paused, mid-caress, over the box for barely half a beat, but Harry, who'd kept his eyes down, noticed.

"You didn't have to," Draco said silkily, setting the creams aside on the low table behind him. He raised crystalline eyes to Harry's face and pushed the bare-chested man down onto the couch. "You know you're all I want."

Harry sank into the plushy cushions as Draco straddled his hips and began a slow, methodical dismantling of every denial Harry couldn't voice.

ooooooooooo

"Harry?" Draco's whisper was tentative in the darkness.

"Hmm?" Harry replied after a moment. He was curled on his side, away from his lover, breathing evenly as in slumber. Only the wall could see his blankly open eyes.

Draco rustled the sheets and curved himself against the dark-haired wizard. "You've been a bit quiet tonight. Is everything all right?" He trailed a soothing palm down the slope of Harry's side. Harry loved the feel of Draco's velvet touch on his skin, and reveled in it.

"Yeah. Just tired. It was a long job," he said. He felt the shadow of Draco's fine hair float across his neck as the other man nuzzled him.

"I thought so too," came the soft reply. A warm reassuring arm coiled around his middle as Draco pulled himself tightly to Harry's back. Harry savored the sensation he'd craved for so long, and stayed silent.

ooooooooooo

The next day Harry had a difficult time with the mountain of paperwork that followed each trip away. He tried to focus on the names and letters and empty lines that needed filling in, but all he could see was Draco, elegant as ever in slim-fitting Muggle jeans and a cream turtleneck, laughing intimately into deep brown eyes and dark auburn hair. He tried to envision each step of his recently completed task for the countless reports, but all he could picture was Draco's finely formed mouth closing over the other man's, the pale pointed jaw in vivid relief beside the ruddy square one.

At six o'clock, Harry piled the parchment scattering his desk into haphazard stacks and joined the throng of witches and wizards anxious to return home for the night. Harry was anxious too, but he nodded and smiled in his usual fashion at those who greeted him, then Flooed home.

Draco had prepared dinner himself that night--a none-too-common occurrence, despite his culinary skill. It was shepherd's pie, one of Harry's favorites, though Draco found it too heavy for his taste. They had treacle pudding after--again, Harry's preference. Draco had been at the height of charm and attentiveness, something Harry had always looked forward to upon returning after an arduous assignment. This time, he soaked up each adoring glance, each suggestive witticism, with muted desperation rather than careless joy.

Now they lay sprawled across the sofa, Harry propped against the arm, with Draco's lean form wedged between his thighs. The blond was flipping idly through a fashion magazine, providing lively commentary on the various models as they posed and glared. Harry had one hand tucked securely around his lover's waist, his other stroking Draco's left inner forearm, his cheek resting against the silken head. He was lost in Draco's hypnotic voice, the steady beat of his heart, and found himself laughing easily at the blond's more scathing observations.

Later, as they lay in bed, the sweat still cooling from their skins, Draco rolled over and smothered Harry with his body, disregarding the stickiness. As the other wizard drfited gently into sleep, Harry fingered the flaxen hair delicately and whispered, "I love you."

Draco stirred. "Of course you do," he responded sleepily, eyes closed, and fell quiet again.

Harry petted Draco's hair slowly and decided it hadn't been so bad. Not when he'd come home to Draco. Work had been unbearable torment, naturally, what with that ruggedly handsome, entirely unfamiliar face kissing Draco constantly running through his mind. But Harry thought one more day wouldn't kill him. He could handle another day.

ooooooooooo

The next morning Harry was marginally more productive. Latitudes, longitudes, and suspicious movements danced alongside an unknown auburn-haired man gripping Draco's thigh. Harry let the weight of the unspoken hang, just below his impatience for the clock to chime six so he could Floo home to Draco.

At last, it was time and Harry was brushing the soot from his robes in his and Draco's fireplace.

Tonight it was back to house-elf cuisine--Draco had retained the family estate and its accompanying luxuries, even though he'd agreed not to live at the Manor after Harry's hopeful suggestion that they find a place all their own. The Malfoy heir had gone along happily enough, even if he did miss his childhood home on occasion.

Harry thought of this as he looked around their living room with new eyes and imagined all of Draco's trinkets and objets d'art gone. The space seemed to be more than half empty somehow. He wondered if Draco's other lover was a Muggle, and whether a Muggle would love living at Malfoy Manor or hate it.

"Sweetheart," came the affectionate voice behind him, and Draco's hand was pulling the briefcase from Harry's grasp, and Draco's lips were pressed into the side of his neck.

"Long day? You're just standing here looking too exhausted to even eat." Draco laughed, a low, smooth sound. "And you haven't been that fatigued since our holiday in Greece--when we didn't get a glance at their much-acclaimed beaches until our third day there." He flashed a wicked smirk at Harry as he threw himself back into an armchair, chin raised, limbs spread wide and wanton.

Harry gazed down at Draco's oh-so-inviting figure and leaned over, compelled to own that tempting mouth. He couldn't resist when his lover was being like this, and knew he'd never be able to.

After a short tussle in the living room, they'd enjoyed their dinner. Draco coaxed Harry out of his subdued demeanor with merciless sarcasm and plump-lipped pouting. Belly and heart full of warmth, Harry talked animatedly with Draco as they listened to music for a bit after dinner, letting their meals settle. Then they took out their brooms and headed out to the field behind their home to take advantage of the clear flying sky.

ooooooooooo

Once again, they lay amid damp sheets, hair wild, breathing coming in slowing sighs. Harry moved to gather Draco into a moist embrace, and they rested.

Then, Harry peeled himself away, the wet smack of separation audible. He rolled over onto his side, one hand thrust under his pillow, and looked at the wall.

"Harry." Draco's voice filtered like a cat's tail through his thoughts. "What is it about the wall you find so fascinating lately?" Draco slithered into position against Harry's back and fitted his chin into the dip between Harry's neck and his shoulder. Harry tensed a bit as the sharp jut of Draco's chin dug in. He realized he loved the twinging pain.

"Nothing, pretty," Harry said softly, giving Draco the endearment that had started as a joke about the blond's obsession with self-grooming. He shivered as Draco ran light fingers over his cooled back, making random circles and lines.

"I am, aren't I?" Draco whispered assertively. Then, vaguely petulantly, "You used to tell me so when we made love. And after." The trailing fingertips vanished and were replaced by taut arms, sliding between Harry's ribcage and the mattress, and over Harry's upturned side. "Don't you think so anymore?"

Hearing one of his own secret questions asked aloud jolted Harry around to face his lover.

"You know I do, Draco," he replied tenderly, brushing moonlit strands away from those beloved grey eyes. "I'll always think so. You'll always be the most beautiful person in the world to me."

The pale features softened from petulance into gratification. "Good." Draco snuggled into Harry's arms, burying his face into Harry's neck.

As he cradled Draco's bare pliant body, Harry decided he didn't need to ask. Not yet. Draco was his, in their home, right now--nothing could change that. Not the past, not the future, not any number of auburn-haired men. He could manage not knowing, for another day.

ooooooooooo

So the days slipped by. Each morning Harry would fill out forms, file reports, attend pointless meetings, his thoughts lingering painfully over Draco and the mysterious auburn-haired man. He didn't hate this other man, except maybe when he visualized coarse, calloused hands groping Draco's slim body roughly, in all the wrong ways. Mostly he just wondered--wondered how Draco had met him, when they'd started seeing each other, whether there were any more like him. He tried very hard not to wonder when Draco--exquisite, perfect Draco--would announce to Harry he was leaving for this better lover, a man who was readily available, who could be everything he demanded and desired. Because when he let himself wonder that, Harry came dangerously close to deciding another day would not come before he asked and found out everything he didn't really need to know. And then there'd be no need for another day, after that.

Harry thought it best to keep rising in the morning, then curl up with Draco at night. He thought it best to love Draco as hard as he could, while he had the chance. It was only a matter of time before the next summons to duty. That knowledge made it easier, with each night panting against Draco's ear, to face another day, in silence.

Three weeks later, the summons came.

Draco put on his standard pout as he helped Harry pack his things. Harry soothed with the usual words, absent the offhanded teasing. This assignment was coded at the highest level of risk. Harry had lied for the first time about a job to Draco and assured him it was a routine operation.

With a snap, he locked the trunk and turned to his lover.

"I can't believe they're calling you back so soon," Draco groused. "After you stayed three extra weeks last time! You should've had a month, at least," he huffed. Harry smiled, a little sadly, as Draco twined himself around his Ministry robe. He smoothed down the silvery hair, each tendril already in place.

"I know," he said.

"Well, that shouldn't happen this time, right?" Draco's voice was muffled by the collar of Harry's uniform. "This is a fairly basic assignment, isn't it?"

"That's what they said," Harry replied, then hesitated. "Though you never know. It's unpredictable work. You know that."

"Yes. And I hate it."

Harry's embrace tightened and Draco spoke again, hurriedly, as if to cut off Harry's next remark.

"But yes, I know, we've discussed this. I'm not asking or implying or pressuring you to give up your position." Harry felt Draco's hands clenching in his hair. "I just hate that you have to be gone so long. I get lonely."

Harry's heart thudded.

"I know, love," he murmured. He arched his neck back to get Draco to look at him, then cupped the aristocratic chin in his palm. "I miss you too." He leaned forward and kissed Draco heavily, sweeping lips and tongue hotly against the fervent mouth.

Finally, they slid apart. Draco's cheeks were flushed bone-pink, and he clung to Harry's arm as the dark-haired wizard took his trunk and went to the fireplace. His green eyes flicked to the clock over the mantel.

"I'll see you soon, Draco." He tilted his head for a final chaste kiss on closed lips and moved back. Harry meant to step across the grate then, but some seed of doubt held him back at the last moment. He looked over his shoulder at Draco and murmured, "It's unpredictable."

A breath. Then, "If I'm gone--too long, let him take care of you, if you want him to." He offered a half-smile and his foot was already in the ashes when Draco's wrist shot out, pinching his arm in steel fingers.

"Harry...?" Draco whispered, horrified realization in those clear grey eyes.

Harry paused, then said in a thick, numb voice, "I saw you. That day in Muggle London. I was buying you chocolates. You looked--" he choked a little but went on, "--happy."

Draco's knuckles were beyond pale against the dark of Harry's sleeve.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Harry looked back and tried to explain, but all the agonies, unvoiced for so long, couldn't be transfigured into coherent speech now. Besides, Harry had never been much for Transfiguration.

When he remained silent, Draco spoke again, voice louder now, tinged with hysteria.

"He's not--he's a Muggle I ran into a few--I don't--" Draco gasped sharply. "I love you, Harry. I'll tell you everything. Ask me. I swear I'll tell you everything." It was a challenge, but for the pleading undertone.

Harry gazed at the taut, pained lines in Draco's face and lightly pulled his arm free of the iron grip. He placed cool gentle fingers against the strained jaw, stroking the death-white skin until those creases eased.

"I love you too, Draco." He passed his palm tremulously over the cherished blond tresses, across the pulsing neck. "We can't talk about this now--I'll be late to the portkey." Green eyes burned into silver. "Another day, love."

Harry's hand lingered against the nape of Draco's neck a moment longer, then he reached for a fistful of powder, stepped across the grate, and was gone, leaving Draco with only wisps of green smoke and his promise.


End file.
